


It's going down (I'm yelling Tinder)

by doctor_denmark



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: F/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8878042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_denmark/pseuds/doctor_denmark
Summary: Abe interferes. Henry despairs. A surprising number of New York residents Super Like Henry.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladygray99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygray99/gifts).



Henry puts his head in his hands. The kitchen table has never felt so claustrophobic. 

 

"Abe," he says. He tries to find the words to describe the total disgust that he feels. 

 

"C'mon," Abe says. "Just let me get a picture. Or I'll use one from the seventies and you'll have to explain the outfit."

 

"I'll have to explain nothing, Abe," Henry says, grimacing through his fingers. "Because I'm not going to allow you to put me on that blasted website."

 

"Henry," Abe says. "It's an app."

 

Henry looks up, hoping that his destain shows. 

 

Abe snaps a picture. 

 

"Too late," he says. "It's done."

 

He passes the phone to Henry. It's not the worst picture taken of him, but it might be the worst since the 60s, and that haircut that Abigail had mocked him about for at least a month. 

 

"You swipe right on the ones you like," Abe says. "Like that one," he points to a girl who looks no more than 30. 

 

"Really Abe," Henry says. "Will you please stop. They're all children." 

 

"Oh please," Abe says, reaching down and swiping right. "At your age, who cares if it's a 220 years or 200 years. You’re robbing the cradle either way."

 

"Thank you Abe," Henry says, and grabs the phone and puts it away. "But if you don't mind, I'd rather find my own dates. And without that ridiculous website."

 

"It's an app, Henry," Abe says. "And there's no shame in internet dating. Everybody does it. I do it."

 

"Enough," Henry says, hands on the table. "Enough, Abe. You're good to want to help, but I neither want nor need it." He stands up. "In fact," he lies," I have a date tomorrow night."

 

"You do?" Abe asks. "Henry! That's great!"

 

"Yes," Henry says. "And if you'll excuse me, I need to go and get ready." He makes a swift and elegant break for the door, and if he knocks the table in his haste, that's nobody's business. 

 

"You big liar," Abe cackles. "Henry, I'm onto you."

 

"I'm nothing of the sort," Henry says, refusing to be flustered by his son's crowing."In fact..." Henry pauses, makes a calculated judgement that Abe will never find out any different and mentally apologizes. "In fact, Detective Martinez has very kindly agreed to accompany me to dinner tomorrow night."

 

"Jo? Your date is with Jo? And really, Henry, is there a reason you become extra British when you're lying through your teeth?"

 

"Goodbye Abe," Henry says, unable to suppress the tiny smile at Abe's amusement, as flustered as he is. 

 

"You're a terrible liar, Henry," Abe calls as Henry makes his exit. 

 

"Goodbye, Abe," Henry calls. 

 

Several hours later, Henry has not quite worked out what to do next. 

 

The next morning, Henry has still not decided what to do next, but Lucas was looking at him in a somewhat alarming manner. 

 

“Morning, Doc,” Lucas finally said. 

 

“Yes,” Henry said, already slightly irritated. 

 

“So,” Lucas said. “The whole thing where you’re a man of mystery was kind of shattered last night when you came up on my Tinder feed.”

 

“What?” Bloody interfering Abe.

 

“I didn’t even know you had a Tinder. Or that you were into guys. Although the scarfs should have been a clue.”

 

“Yes,” Henry says, not rolling his eyes, although the effort is a mighty one. “Thank you Lucas. The profile was the work of an interfering acquaintance, and though it was well meaning, I’d beg you to ignore its existence entirely.”

 

Lucas nods. “Whatever you say, Doc. To be honest I had kind of a crisis about it anyway. I kept opening and closing the app, hoping it would go away. Like five times. Because is it rude to swipe left? You’re hot. I’d do you. I mean, theoretically.” He looks to Henry for approval. 

 

Henry nods. The complement, although not artful, is undoubtedly well meant. 

 

“But if I swiped right, and we matched, that would be awkward, right? You’re my boss? And older? And I mean, the older experienced guy seducing the young protege is hot, but like, if it went bad, that would make work awkward. And then there’s the mad break up sex period, where you hate them, but you can’t keep your hands off them, and again, in the work environment? Awkward.”

 

“And indeed, Lucas, any awkwardness would have been avoided if you’d never mentioned it in the first place,” Henry says. “And we can prevent it from further occurrence if we never, ever, mention this. Ever.”

 

“Sure, Doc,” Lucas agrees. “It could be worse. You came up on Debbie in Histology’s feed last night. She got so freaked out she deleted her profile. That’s like three months of carefully crafted matches, gone.”

 

“Goodbye, Lucas,” Henry says, and again makes a strategic exit from this unbelievable mess of Abe’s making. 

 

He hasn’t picked up one of Jo’s cases in a week, so despite the growing panic it’s actually a lovely surprise when she walks in the door with two cups of coffee whilst Henry is wrestling with his mountain of paperwork. 

 

“Detective Martinez!”

 

“Hi Henry.” Jo hands him one of the coffee cups. 

 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Henry asks, taking a sip of the coffee. 

 

“Well,” Jo says. “I got a pretty strange text from Abe.”

 

“Oh God!” Bloody interfering Abe. 

 

“I mean really, Henry? You’re on Tinder? Aren’t you a little old for that?”

 

“It was entirely non-consensual profile creation, I assure you.”

 

Jo laughs. “So I gather.”

 

“And that bloody thing keeps beeping at me, telling me I’ve been ‘Super Liked’, whatever in the world that means.”

 

“I mean, there are plenty of women in the city who want to give that whole suave British professor thing a go,” Jo says. “Or so I hear.”  
“It’s all so..” Henry searches for the right word. “It seems such a sterile way of doing things,” he settles on.”

 

“Maybe?” Jo says. “I mean, in my day we hooked up in bars but I’m not sure it’s that different. You just end up buying fewer $17 drinks. You just have an old fashioned soul, Henry. Maybe you should try speed dating.”

 

Henry flinches, involuntarily. Jo is definitely laughing at him now. 

 

“I’m sensing a story there.”

 

“That was Abe’s last idea to help me get back out there.” 

 

“Not your thing?” Jo asks. 

 

“Not my thing at all.” Henry confirms. “How can you possibly decide if you like someone in five minutes? What happened to sitting over a meal, really getting to know each other?”

 

“A meal is a lot to commit to someone if you’re not sure you can make that much conversation,” Jo muses. “I’ve faked a work emergency after the appetizers more than once.”

 

“Conversation isn’t that hard, for goodness sake.” Though the art does appear to be dying out in favour of text messages and snap-grams, or whatever they’re called. “We manage well enough.”

 

“When I have a clue what you’re talking about,” Jo shrugs. “But yeah, I probably wouldn’t ditch you before the entrees arrived.”

 

Henry takes it as the complement he knows it is. “High praise indeed Detective Martinez.” 

 

“Well I hear you’re taking me out tonight so…”

 

“Bloody Abe,” Henry sighs. “I can’t apologise enough for him, really.” 

 

“Hey,” Jo says. “I get it. He wants you to get back out there. My friends have done the same, more than once.”

 

“Still, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t his place.” 

 

“It’s fine, Henry,” Jo assures him. “So what time are you picking me up?”

 

“What?” 

 

“You think I’m going to turn down a free meal and good conversation? C’mon Henry.”  
“Well then,” Henry says, half bemused, half shocked. “I suppose eight. I’m assuming that Italian would be appropriate? There’s a rather nice family run restaurant a few blocks from Abe’s store I’ve been wanting to try.”

 

“Italian is always appropriate, Henry. I’ll see you then.”

 

“Well, Detective Martinez. Jo. I’ll see you at eight.”

 

“Don’t be late.” She gets up to leave his office.

 

“Oh, Jo,” Henry says. “One more thing. If you wouldn’t mind”

 

He gets up and pulls the blasted phone out of his pocket. He might not like the thing but he’s not a luddite, and so he pulls up the camera quickly. 

 

“For Abe,” he tells her, and leans in so he can snap a picture of the two of them together. She laughs and the picture captures both of their smiles. It’s a good picture. 

 

He sends it to Abe quickly. It’s not quite a thank you, but it’s close enough. 

 

As Jo leaves the pats him on the arm and smiles. Henry wonders if flowers for her tonight would be too forward. 

 

They might be, but as he goes back to his paperwork, he finds that he wants to buy them anyway.


End file.
